Chapter Text
Caleb did not like the dwarven woman. He did not trust her. Beauregard seemed to be taking a shine to her at least. Beau usually had a good sense for these things. Sometimes. Either way, he couldn’t seem to concentrate, to think clearly. All he could feel was the tightness of his ribs and the fire at his back.
Jester, Fjord, Yasha… they were gone, taken not by Ikithon, but by a group referred to as the Iron Shepherds- a group of slavers out of all things. At least, according to their new “friend.” He, Molly, Beau, and Nott had all exchanged glances. Maybe they were destined for slavery now, but as soon as the Iron Shepherds came upon one of the Mighty Nein’s many wanted posters… Well, they would be on their way to somewhere much worse. It was paramount that they retrieve them.
Caleb couldn’t do that if he was indisposed.
Ever since the panic had overtaken him at the absence of Jester, Fjord, and Yasha, he’d felt ablaze. There was something within him, something growing. Something strange. The mist and smoke, something that normally would’ve only grown in such circumstances, was faded and absent. He could feel it, feel the monster there within him, so strangely accessible. He didn’t know how or why, how he could be so aware of it. He didn’t want to think about it. But he’d had nothing but time these past few days, bolting through the wilderness on their remaining horses, pushing themselves and their animals to the brink.
Taking watch, alone save for Frumpkin on his lap, he studied the sleeping bodies of his compatriots. It felt wrong. It was wrong- without their familiar blue tiefling and her soft dreamy mumbles to herself, without Fjord’s loud snoring, and without Yasha’s quiet but reassuring presence. When had he become so close to them all?
His mind hurts. All he can think about is a soft touch from a large hand, a quiet word of reassurance in a beautiful language he both knew and didn’t know. Safe. Being pulled close, behind, gently held and protected as lights flashed and flared. Warm. Blue hands carding through his hair, accompanied by happy humming. Home. Caleb sucked in a breath, fingers curling as he pressed a hand to his forehead.
Remembering his time without his mind often gave him headaches and made little sense. But he cannot deny this. He had lost himself and they had all sacrificed much to keep him by their side, to care for him, instead of abandoning him and Nott by the side of the road. Instead of turning them into Ikithon, as they could’ve and probably should’ve done, the Mighty Nein had sacrificed everything for them. For him. That in and of itself made his chest hurt, his mind ache, and his belly sick with nausea. The warmth in his bones seemed somehow the most terrible thing.
He could not leave them, not now.
He could not help them either. He was only a dirty stinky wizard, still trying to grasp knowledge he’d long forgotten. He had nothing, could give nothing, was nothing.
Tch, you forget what you have.
He hadn’t spoken. No one had. The forest is eerie around them. He wants to ignore it- to shy away as he always has. But he can’t. He can’t afford to ignore it any longer. Caleb lightly scratched Frumpkin’s ears, voice soft and trembling slightly, “I have catalogued everything I can.”
Nein, you lack sense. I have forgotten nothing.
Caleb looked at Nott’s sleeping body. None of them speak, but he knows whose voice he hears nevertheless. The smoke has become too dim. Their lines blur. It’s unacceptable, “I won’t. This- this charade has gone on long enough. Monster. You- you are a monster. Du bist böse. We both are.”
And here I thought you were starting to see sense.
Caleb clenches his eyes shut, fingers curling deeper into Frumpkin’s fur, “You cannot speak to me. You cannot. Be quiet.” He wants the smoke back. He needs it. He’d forgotten that it was for his own protection. It kept him safe. It kept him from being able to breathe, but the monster at least, could not see him there.
You are a coward, as you’ve always ever been.
“Better a coward than to become that- that thing again.”
Your friends, they mean that little to you? You know I could do it. All you need is me.
“Halten Sie den Mund-“
It’s Nott’s sleepy question that brings silence to his fragmented thoughts, “M’Caleb…? Who’re you talking to…?”
Caleb swallows his panic, Frumpkin staring at him with glossy eyes. His voice is quiet and choked when he speaks again, “Nothing. Myself. Sorry for waking you liebling, go back to sleep.” He hears her murmur again, not truly awake, soft snores returning.
He wants to run.
We don’t leave people behind.
The voice this time is something softer, different, more childish, echoing the sentiments of the Mighty Nein. He buries his face in Frumpkin’s soft orange fur and tries to remember how to breathe.